In the Paint

by Jeff Rud

  “I have an announcement to make,” said the coach, speaking slowly and clearly. “And I’m going to make this simple.

  “Grant Jackson is no longer part of this basketball team. He was suspended earlier this year for a game and then given one second chance. Last week, as some of you might have heard by now, he did some tagging with Andrew McTavish — a really stupid, senseless, hurtful thing to do. As you know, I only give my players one second chance. Jackson is now off the squad.

  “And that’s not all,” the coach continued. “McTavish has been suspended for one game for his part in it. He will be allowed back after the Churchill game and he, too, will get one second chance.”

  Matt couldn’t believe his ears. Jackson had been punished and so had McTavish. Phil’s grandmother must have gone to the principal. But she must have kept quiet about Matt being there that night too. All this came as a shock. Matt had been so overwhelmed with personal guilt since Friday night he hadn’t even thought about the implications for the basketball team.

  There were more surprises. Coach Stephens informed the team that he was elevating Jake and Phil from the junior varsity to fill the vacancies created by the permanent loss of Jackson and White and the temporary absence of McTavish. Matt’s two buddies were going to join him on the Stingers. Normally, he would have been ecstatic to hear this news, but something new was now gnawing on his conscience.

  Coach wasn’t finished yet. “Hill, you’re now the starting point guard,” he said. “I know you can handle it.”

  At that moment, Matt didn’t feel like he could handle much of anything. He was still a part of the team, even though he had also been a part of the tagging. As practice continued, he increasingly felt as though he was lying all over again. The final whistle of the afternoon couldn’t come soon enough for him.

  Grant Jackson was waiting for Matt outside the gym door after practice. His arms were folded across his chest and he wore a bitter sneer.

  “Narc,” he growled, nearly spitting in Matt’s face. “If you hadn’t opened your stupid mouth, we’d all still be on the team. But maybe getting your little buddies on the squad was the plan all along.”

  Matt flushed with anger. “It wasn’t my idea to tag that store, to write that stuff. It was yours.”

  Jackson moved in front of Matt to block his path. He began to raise his arm and Matt tensed, preparing for the blow. But before it was even launched, the door opened and out of the gym strode Coach Stephens.

  “Jackson, what are you doing here?” he barked. “Go on home. You’re not to hang around here. Do you understand?”

  Jackson didn’t answer the coach. He just turned away and began walking, but not before casting a menacing glance back at Matt. “We’re not finished, Hill.”

  Coach Stephens looked at Matt quizzically, a wrinkle coming to his forehead as his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched firm. “What’s this all about, Matt? Why is Jackson in your face?”

  Matt was speechless. He wanted so badly to just spill the truth to Coach Stephens and get it all out in the open. But he just couldn’t bear to have the coach think badly of him. Not when things were going so well on the basketball court.

  “I don’t know,” Matt said quickly. “The guy’s just got a problem, I guess.”

  All the way home, Matt felt lower and lower. Not only had he escaped punishment, but now he had just lied to the coach too. By the time he arrived home, his mom had already come and gone, leaving him a note: “Matt, I have two showings tonight. I’ll call you between them. You can heat up the chicken and rice that’s in the fridge for dinner. Love, Mom.”

  Matt was almost relieved that she wasn’t home. It would have been impossible to talk to her about school or friends or the house deal she was hoping to close. He didn’t feel like talking to anybody.

  After finishing his English homework, Matt headed to his room. He flipped the headphones for his MP3 player over his ears and tried to use the pounding of the music to get his mind off his dilemma. But it didn’t work.

  Whenever he had a problem like this, he went over the problem thoroughly and then over the possible solutions just as carefully. Then he weighed those solutions and chose one.

  This time, there were only two choices. Either keep quiet and keep playing basketball, or go to the coach and admit that he had been part of the tagging at Wong’s Grocery. That would surely mean some sort of punishment, and he could say goodbye to the starter’s job. But the more Matt thought about it, the more he knew it was the only thing to do.

  When he woke up the next morning, Matt decided that he would head straight for the school gym and see if Coach Stephens was there. He skipped breakfast, left a note for his mom, who was still sleeping, and jumped on his bike.

  Coach Stephens was in his office, going over some Phys. Ed. class attendance sheets when Matt arrived. He looked up and smiled. “Getting some early shooting in today, Matt? That’s great. The gym’s free.”

  “No, Coach,” Matt replied. “Actually, I need to talk to you.”

  Moments later, the coach had heard the whole story. “I’m glad you came to me with this, Matt,” he said. “That was a good decision. It doesn’t make up for what you did, but it’s a positive sign.

  “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to suspend you,” the coach continued. “It’s only fair that if McTavish has to sit out a game, you do too. You will be reinstated after the Churchill game. And like McTavish, this is your second chance — the only one you will get with me.”

  “Okay, Coach,” Matt nodded. “I understand.”

  As Matt walked out of the office, it felt as though a thousand-pound load had been lifted from his chest. It hurt that he wouldn’t get to play against Churchill, but he wasn’t hiding a dark secret anymore. And besides, Amar, Jake and Phil would all be suiting up. It would be great to see those guys play varsity together.

  Matt didn’t see Jackson and McTavish waiting by the boys’ washroom as he made his way down the hall after his first class of the morning. But by the time he did spot them it was too late. Jackson crossed the hallway and stood in Matt’s path while McTavish circled behind him. There were no teachers in sight.

  “Hill, you’re a major kiss-ass,” Jackson said, his dark eyes brimming with bitterness. “Must be nice to be the coach’s boy, seeing as you get to play tomorrow and we don’t.”

  “I’m not playing, either,” Matt shot back. “I’m suspended for one game, just like McTavish.”

  Jackson looked surprised. “Who turned you in? Your little Chinese buddy or his wrinkly grandma?” McTavish laughed in the background.

  “I went to Coach myself,” Matt said. “I told him I was there with you guys on Friday too.”

  Both boys looked surprised. McTavish had a strange expression on his face, but Jackson simply appeared furious.

  “Then you’re even a bigger loser than I thought you were,” Jackson said, shooting out his right arm and shoving Matt off balance.

  Matt sidestepped the older boy and continued down the hall. He didn’t care what Jackson thought of him. At least he would be able to sleep that night.

  chapter eleven

  It was a case of extremely bad timing. The one game for which Mark was able to make it home from Eton was the game against Churchill. And that was also the game for which Matt had been suspended.

  Matt couldn’t remember being more disappointed. He had wanted his older brother to see him play so badly, to see how much he had improved since the previous summer. Instead, he had to settle for going to the game with his mom and his brother and watching from the stands as the Stingers took on the visiting Churchill Bulldogs. When South Side emerged from the locker room, Matt waved to Jake, Amar and Phil from his seat beside his mom and Mark. Andrea Thomas glanced his way from her spot on the bench and waved. Matt nodded back at her, hoping his mom hadn’t noticed.

  Churchill traditionally had a strong team, and this year was no different. They had six wins and three losses heading into the game, while
South Side had lost once in nine starts, second only in the middle school league standings to the perfect record of the Middleton Marauders and their star Tommy Layne. Matt felt that the Stingers were a better all-around team than Middleton, despite their loss to the Marauders, but Churchill was a deep, well-rounded squad that was capable of giving even a full-strength South Side lineup trouble.

  Without Jackson or Matt in the lineup, it was a long night for South Side. Churchill knew the Stingers were short of ball handlers and employed a full-court press for most of the game. None of the South Side guards, including Phil and Jake, who were seeing their first action with the varsity, could handle the pressure. South Side got off to a shaky start and trailed thirty to fifteen at the half.

  Despite being with his brother and mother, Matt wasn’t enjoying the game much. He wanted to be out there, and he felt bad for Phil and Jake who hadn’t had much practice time before the game and weren’t familiar with the varsity playbook. Matt had also wanted so badly to be able to show Mark what he could now do on the basketball court that missing this game was demoralizing.

  It seemed to Matt like years since the two brothers had even shot hoops together. Since Mark had moved away to work in Eton, Matt had missed him more than he ever thought he would. They had regular contact by phone and e-mail, but it wasn’t the same as being able to go for a walk or play catch at a moment’s notice. And for Matt it was different being the “man” of the house now that his brother had moved out.

  Matt stole a glance at Mark, sitting next to his mom in the bleachers. He wondered what he’d be doing when he was Mark’s age, whether he’d be able to move away from home as his brother had. It all seemed so far away from his life in middle school.

  As the white- and blue-clad Churchill dancers sped through their halftime number, kids and parents mingled near the gym floor and the concession table. Looking one section to his right, Matt noticed Grant Jackson and Steve White sitting together with a large group of friends. Andrew McTavish, who was serving a suspension like Matt, wasn’t with them this time.

  The group of boys were laughing loudly and horsing around in the bleachers, oblivious to the disruption they were causing for the folks sitting near them. As they continued, a couple of families got up and moved further down the stands.

  Suddenly, Jackson stood up and glared in Matt’s direction. Something looked different about him tonight. It was something in his eyes and the unsteady way he was standing.

  “Hey, Hill, who’s your date?” Jackson laughed, eyeing Matt’s mom. “She’s real pretty.” His friends beside him snickered.

  Matt’s ears burned and he flushed with embarrassment. He couldn’t let this go, not in front of most of the school. But what should he do?

  Before Jackson could sit down, Mark stood up beside Matt and his mother. The sight of Mark’s six-foot-three frame, chiseled from long days of work on the oil rigs, was enough to silence Jackson. A few minutes later, he and his crew slid quietly out the gym door.

  Matt and his family watched the rest of the game in peace. But there wasn’t much to cheer about as South Side fell fifty to thirty-eight to Churchill. Despite a much better second-half performance, the poor start was just too much for the Stingers to overcome. It was so difficult for Matt to watch his teammates struggling out there, knowing there was nothing he could do about it.

  Matt’s mom had to show a house to clients right after the game, so Mark told her he would drive Matt home. He was staying for the whole weekend, which was nice for Mom. While Matt found himself missing his older brother a lot of the time, he knew it was much worse for her. “Hey, bro, let’s go for a pizza,” Mark said as they pulled out of the school parking lot in his blue pickup. “I’m buying.”

  They sat in the back booth at Classico’s, the neighborhood pizza place that they had been going to for years. They ordered their old standard — an extra-large double cheese, double pepperoni and onions — and a couple of Cokes. It felt good to be with Mark, who shared the same wavy hair as he and his mother but who had inherited the lanky height and the deep blue eyes of their father. Mark always seemed to have a calm, balanced approach to everything, even if he did bring his laundry home from Eton whenever he visited.

  “You guys have a decent team,” Mark said, eyeing his little brother across the booth. “Probably a lot better when you’re actually playing, though.”

  Matt was happy for the compliment. He told Mark he was looking forward to the final part of the season. The Stingers had eight wins and two losses and still had a shot at first place over their last six games.

  “You’ve got a bit of a problem with that one kid, though,” Mark said. “He was drunk tonight. I walked by those guys on the way to the concession before the game and you could smell it fifteen feet away.”

  For a second, Matt didn’t follow what his brother was saying. Then it clicked. Mark was talking about Grant Jackson. So that’s why Jackson had seemed different tonight, thought Matt. He hadn’t had a lot of experience with alcohol — just a brief taste of leftover beers when he did the coat check with the Boy Scouts at a New Year’s Eve dance the previous year — and this was the first time somebody at his school had been drunk, at least the first time he’d known about it.

  Matt explained the background with Jackson, rehashing the night of the tagging at Phil’s store. He told Mark that Jackson had seemed to have it in for him since the incident in Anderson Park last summer.

  “You have to keep your eye on that kid,” Mark said. “He’s trouble. Just make sure that you don’t get sucked into fighting with him. He just wants to take as many people down with him as he can. Stay away from him and make sure your real friends are around you most of the time.”

  Matt thought it sounded like good advice. He didn’t plan on being anywhere around Grant Jackson if he could help it.

  Matt and Andrew McTavish returned for the Stingers’ next game, a rematch with the Central Wildcats, whom they had beaten in their season-opener.

  With the two starters back in the lineup, South Side had no problem with the Wildcats even though Central’s crowded, humid gym could at times be a hostile place to play. McTavish scored the game’s first basket on an assist from Matt, and South Side never trailed, rolling their way to a fifty-six to forty win.

  It marked the first time that Matt, Jake, Phil and Amar had played together in a varsity middle school game, and it was memorable. During garbage time at the end of the second half, Coach Stephens had put the four grade sevens on the floor all at once. And on one fast-break play, the ball had ping-ponged between the friends all the way upcourt before ending in a power lay-up by Amar that was so close to being an actual dunk that it seemed to stun the Central crowd into submission. It felt just like one of those dreamy summer days at Anderson Park.

  Without Jackson and White in the lineup, the Stingers had also become a much less star-centered and a much more team-oriented bunch. Their best player now was steady grade nine center Dave Tanner, who was averaging fifteen points and eight rebounds a game and who had proven to be a terrific, even-tempered leader. But everybody else was contributing too, right down to Andrea Thomas, the team manager, who had practically become one of the guys as the season wore on.

  South Side rolled off four more wins in a row, to run up a thirteen-and-two record heading into the final game of the regular season, a first-place showdown with Churchill, this time on the Bulldogs’ home court in the northeast end of the city. Churchill and South Side had emerged as the top two teams in the league after Middleton faltered during the second half of the season because of an ankle injury to Tommy Layne.

  Churchill, named after the leader of Great Britain during World War II, was the oldest middle school in the city and the Bulldogs were a traditional powerhouse. Their gymnasium was nicknamed The Dawg Pound and was typically jammed. For this showdown with South Side, people were actually lined up outside a half hour before tip-off, waiting to get a good seat. As the Stingers passed the lineup on their way int
o the locker room, Matt felt a surge of excitement. This would be the kind of atmosphere he and his friends had always dreamed about playing basketball in.

  Matt had played well during the season-closing stretch, averaging twelve points and six assists and taking good care of the basketball. He felt ready for the match-up with Churchill, which was led by center Scott Parkins, a talented six-foot-four grade nine who was being widely touted as a future city high school star.

  Nobody on the Stingers team could physically match up with Parkins, who was two inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than Tanner, the South Side center. But Tanner was smart, defensively dependable and, for the most part, able to play Parkins to a standstill.

  South Side managed to play Churchill to a twenty-six to twenty-six deadlock at the half, with ten points from Matt, who was easily beating his man to the basket. But Parkins came alive in the second half, hitting a series of soft hook shots over Tanner to give the Bulldogs a five-point lead with just two minutes left.

  Coach Stephens signaled for a time-out, calling the Stingers over to the bench. He then looked down the bench and summoned Phil into the game to replace Pete Winters, who had been cold from outside. Phil looked a little surprised, but he jumped up, unbuttoned his warm-up pants and rubbed his hands together to warm his fingers.

  The coach didn’t have much to say. “The big things are defense and rebounding,” he said. “If we guard hard and get the boards, the offense will take care of itself. But we have to want the ball.” His players nodded.

  On the ensuing possession, Matt dribbled across the top of the three-point circle. His check was playing him too tightly, so he juked left and began to drive right where a hole had opened up down the lane. The defender from the right wing slid over to try and stop Matt, leaving Phil wide open behind the three-point line. Matt found his friend with a perfect pass. Phil set himself and then launched the ball. It arced high before swishing through the net. Churchill’s lead had been cut to two.

  The Bulldogs worked the ball patiently upcourt with only a minute remaining. The fans began chanting, “Bull-Dogs! Bull-Dogs!” until it was almost deafening. They wound down the thirty-second shot clock to about eight and then found Parkins posted at the top of the key with Tanner playing behind him. Parkins made a nice pivot and began to swing around for what looked like an easy three-foot hook shot. But Tanner managed to reach out and stab the ball just enough to knock it out of the Churchill center’s grasp.